Sitting on the Bleachers is Worth the Wait
by Wolf skater
Summary: Most people would find how you spend your time after school boring but you don't mind. Ever hour spent is worth it in the end, no matter how boring or unproductive it was.


**Author's Note: A continuation of my sports au from my previous story "This is Why Our Parents Already Have Our Wedding Planned." This one has actual sports stuff in it. Please tell me what you think, also from now one I'll also be posting these on my AO3 account, under the username Wolfskater63.**

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You are relieved when you are let out of your last class. The first thing you do, after stopping at your locker to exchange what needs to stay at school with what you want to bring home, is head out to the stadium and park yourself on the bleachers.

Track practice has already begun when you get there. Everyone is running warm up laps and you push your backpack away and start tuning your bass, attention half on the runners. You finish the boring task of tuning and start playing a random song you've memorized, playing solely on muscle memory as you watch them stretching.

As they break off into groups for their different events you start singing softly and your eyes train on Bonnie, picking her out easily by her bright pink hair and outfit. You spend a few moments trying to figure out what type of work out they are doing before you give up, deciding you don't care.

A cool breeze of early spring blows past and you shiver in your tee-shirt, refusing to grab your hoodie as a protest of the weather. You notice them getting ready to take a break and put your bass down, confident it will be safe as you are the only one occupying the bleachers. You grab Bonnie's full water bottle that was accidentally left in your locker and bring it over to her. "Thanks Marcy," she says, rewarding you with a smile and a kiss to the cheek, before she takes a sip of the water.

"No problem Bonnie," you say with a crooked smile, waving slightly to Finn as he passes.

"You know you could just go home if you want to," Bonnie tells you as she closes the bottle.

"And leave you stranded on the bus with the hooligans? No way," you tell her.

She smiles and rolls her eyes, "I'll see you when practice is done."

You nod and wave, making your way back to your spot on the bleachers. You resume your song playing, undisturbed by the middle schoolers who are running up and down the bleachers as punishment.

You start to use the rhythm of their feet hitting the metal as a beat and play along to it, making up a riff. You start humming along disjointed lyrics. You retrieve a notebook and pencil from your backpack and scribble down what you have, deciding it's decent enough for latter use.

You look up and notice most of the runners have gone, most likely to do some weight training. You throw the notebook and pencil back into the bag. Your bass is treated with better care as it is carefully returned to its case. You carry both to your car and put them in the back seat.

You lock it up, just in case. Twirling your keys around your finger, you make your way to the exit of the girls locker room and lean against the wall. You close your eyes and doze off accidentally.

It has to have only been a few minutes later when you are awakened by a quick kiss on your cheek. You move slightly and surprise Bonnie with a kiss on the lips before intertwining your fingers together.

"Let's go home," you suggest, tugging her gently in the direction of the car.

"Sounds good to me," she smiles, following you.

You'll bring Bonnie home and probably end up eating dinner at her house in the midst of doing homework. Most of your evening wasted at practice for a sports team you weren't a part of, like most days. And like everyday it's all worth it for you, just to get to listen to Bonnie talk about practice and how the team was doing on the way home, and later listening to her mumble on about her homework, deep in concentration, as you pay more attention to her than the math homework you should be doing, stealing a few kisses. All of this, for just a few hours spent sitting on the bleachers.


End file.
